Still catching up. Maybe this isn’t current- bite me. Speaking of which:
Roy and the Tiger- the last theory I heard was that the tiger was trying to save Roy from a threatening hairdo. The woman’s hair looked like a meerkat, and ever since Lion King the big cats have been suspicious of the little Jew meerkats controlling everything.

I doubt the cat really wanted him dead. If the cat wanted him dead he probably would have been dead in a second. So it seems it was really more like a labor negotiating tool. A kind of, “Hey, I’ve been asking for a freaking vacation for a couple years and I get nothing. Aren’t there laws or something? What do I have to do to be heard around here, kill somebody?” Or maybe kitty was just hungry and prefers his meat very rare.

Enough of that.

In other events- there’s an Islamic Conference going on. A speaker, Mahathir Mohamad, declared they should be willing to declare a truce with the Jews. He was widely reported as a voice of moderation. Moderation is a relative thing. If he said “Push the Zionist Jews into the sea. Then hunt down every remaining Jew in the world and kill them. Throw their bodies in the fields for wild animals to eat. Crush the remaining bones into dust. Then destroy any record they were alive to blot them from history,” the sympathetic media might say he was hard-line, but only because he was suffering the loss of so many suicide bombers at the hands of the Jews, or something like that.

In comparison “Make peace, then keel the Joos” would sound downright moderate.


What he actually said was “The Quran tells us that when the enemy sues for peace we must react positively. True the treaty offered is not favourable to us. But we can negotiate.”
That certainly sounds moderate- like the voice of reason. But then he adds,
“The Prophet did, at Hudaibiyah. And in the end he triumphed.”
If you don’t know what he’s talking about you may think it’s a moral victory- it’s not. What does it really mean?


“Just three months after -Hudaibiyah, Khaiber, the major stronghold of the Jews, was conquered and after it the Jewish settlements of Fadak, Wad-il Qura, Taima and Tabuk also fell to Islam one after the other. Then all other tribes of central Arabia, which were bound in alliance with the Jews and Quraish, came under the sway of Islam. Thus, within two years after Hudaibiyah the balance of power in Arabia was so changed that the strength of the Quraish and pagan gave way and the domination of Islam became certain.
These were the blessings that the Muslims gained from the peace treaty which they were looking upon as their defeat and the Quraish as their victory.” Mahathir is not inciting a truce for the sake of peace. He wants to obtain position for victory.
You can read the entire text here courtesy of a link from Little Green Footballs.



You can expect the media, though allegedly controlled by Jews, will report on the Muslim display of statesmanship as a hopeful sign. Surely the Jews will accept the olive branch and reciprocate with an act of good faith. There will continue to be cries for the Israelis to give up land to be fair, and to heal the wounds. Fair would eventually be determined to mean leaving enough land in Israel for each Israeli to have a burial plot. That’s the only thing that will make Muslims happy. Israel offends Islam, so does the United States.

Enough of that too.



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Under the date Oct 17 these go back to Sep 13, at least until I change the post dates to be corrected
9/26
Morning break, lunch, and it’s gone. The Superwife and the kids don’t even get to try it. Everybody liked it. So here it is, a reasonably good cherry crisp.

Reasonably Good Cherry Crisp

2 Big cans of cherry pie filling
1 cup rolled oats
½ cup brown sugar
½ cup flour
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
½ cup butter
½ cup coconut
1 package sliced almonds

Mix in cinnamon and nutmeg into cherry filling. Or don’t add the nutmeg, you get to make the decision. Pour it into a 9x14 pan, or whatever makes you happy.

For topping combine oats, brown sugar, flour, coconut and cut in butter until crumbly.

Sprinkle topping over filling. Sprinkle almonds over topping.

Bake in 375 degree oven for 30-35 minutes.








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9/25
Potluck. I try a piece, it’s too sweet. But it would be real good with ice cream. There’s so much food it hardly gets touched. Either that, or it’s a bust. If I brought it home the Superwife would say something like, “Do you know how many calories are in that pan? You eat it.” So it’s left in the office fridge for tomorrow. We’ll see.
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9/24
Potluck at work tomorrow. We go to Wally World for miscellaneous and sundry stuff. While the Superwife and kids are shopping for their things I head for the food section to find something to make.

I head back to the cake mix section. No, no cakes, don’t wanna do that. Have to do something different. I see easy to make cherry crisp. That’s possible. But looking at the box it looks like something that was at the school picnic, and it wasn’t too impressive. So I shall make one from scratch, or nearly so. I have decided, it shall be so.

Pick up a couple cans of pie filling and stuff I might need.

It’s late, too late to start cooking, but there’s no choice. Find a recipe and make cherry crisp. I find one and figure some adjustments will have to be made. It calls for a two-quart pan. I want it bigger, thicker, and it has got to be good. Into a pot go two big cans of cherries, cinnamon, and a little nutmeg.

Supermom comes down after reading to the kids and getting them asleep. I cannot find brown sugar. She says we don’t have any. She drives to a store to get me some. Either she loves me or she wanted to get out of the house.

In preparing the topping I don’t exactly follow the recipe, I never do. To adjust for a bigger 9x14 pan everything is doubled. I add coconut, because cherries and coconut is a natural. After the topping is on I sprinkle a bag of sliced almonds over the top. I hope it’s good.
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9/23
Trainboy had a class picnic at school. I left work as soon as possible and away we went. We eat the usual stuff, meet his teacher, and go outside to play. When you’re 46 recess isn’t that big a deal though, the thrill is gone. I’d rather lay on the blanket. Trainboy had other ideas. He runs through the playground equipment and I am envious; firstly, because he feels like running all day and can, and secondly because this is pretty neat playground equipment.

My Dad could have said the same thing. As could his Dad before him, going back to when some guy grunted that when he was a kid he didn’t have two rocks like that to bang together. But I digress.

Afterwards the Superwife told me Trainboy was excited that I was going to meet his teacher. Well I failed that one. I just stood there and watched like the anti-socialist I am. She also told me that he told her that he had a special friend in class. Okay, you’ve got my interest now. He then said his friend had brown skin. I don’t know why that would matter. He’s never heard us make racial comments, we don’t make any.

He led the Supermom to the class pictures that surrounded the black board. He pointed out the picture of a cute girl- long black hair, brown eyes, probably Hispanic. Trainboy has good taste. Trainboy can pick ‘em.

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9/19
Didn’t make it to Wally World last night either. Ms. Pikachu has gymnastics. Afterwards it was raining. Home we go, home we went.

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9/18
Didn’t make it to Wally World last night. It was Awanas night. The kids go, Patricia teaches. I am a slacker and stay home. Woe unto me. But a little peace and quiet once in a while is nice. I am content to sit on the couch and…. Fall asleep.
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9/17
I e-mailed sis with the link. She thinks the next model up would be a better choice. It’s automatic everything, she has one, and she likes it a lot. The prices are about half that of a sewing store. We’ll see how it goes.
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9/16
We checked out the machines at Wally World. On the one hand I’m always for supporting local merchants. On the other hand, I work days, she works weekends, and it’s sometimes hard to get us all together and moving at the same time. Wally World is open 24/7. And if I do say so myself, I like that.

In the past I’ve driven by large retailers and seen cars in the lot well after closing. They were probably stocking shelves or cleaning, whatever, but it always seemed to me that as long as you’ve got people in there why don’t you put a couple at the registers and make some money? Wally World does that, and there’s people in the parking lot all the time. Making money 24/7.

So we went to Wally World to see if they had any sewing machines. They do. They carry everything but lumber and, and, I can’t think of anything else. We scoped out the machines, they definitely have some nice machines. The Superwife would be content with any of them. But the Frugalwife definitely doesn’t want to overspend. She is inclined to go with: http://64.4.8.250/cgi-bin/linkrd?_lang=EN&lah=2076170f1e3cb72f6411d49fa7f27cde&lat=1066383777&hm___action=http%3a%2f%2fwww%2ewalmart%2ecom%2fcatalog%2fproduct%2egsp%3fproduct_id%3d1744744%26amp%3bcat%3d4770%26amp%3btype%3d1%26amp%3bdept%3d4044%26amp%3bpath%3d0%253A4044%253A4064%253A90433%253A4770
That’s some kind of link.

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9/15
I talk to my sister about the sewing problem. She’s really good at that kind of thing. She made the Superwife’s wedding dress. If you saw the pictures you’d be impressed. Anyway, she said that elastic is about the worst thing to sew. When I mention this to the then exasperated Superwife she cut me off and said, “It even does it when I'm sewing cotton!" Translation- "I want a new sewing machine. End of discussion." So we'll probably go to Wally World tonight and her get one.

That will be fine with me- the machine she has was bought used shortly after we were married. She complains it doesn’t keep tension consistently and it breaks the thread. You don’t have to sell me, let’s buy one and get it over with. My middle name is Easy.

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9/14/03
The Superwife was trying to mend some of her work pants. The elastic in the waist had worn out. She tried to sew new elastic in using her sewing machine. It was not good. It did not work. A very upset Superwife declared, “I need a new sewing machine!”

Alrighty then, let’s go get one. Too simple. I don’t understand the complexities obviously. It is hard for Cheapwife…I’m sorry, “Frugalwife” to live with a guy who thinks if you need something you should just go down to a store and buy it.

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I can tell I’m not going to get caught up, it’s just slipping away. Oh well. But here’s some more flashback anyway.
9/13
We drive back to visit my brother and his family. While there he and I go to Wally World, there’s one everywhere you go. Sam Walton still wants your money. He’s dead, but old habits die hard. As we walk to the door I trip over the lip of the sidewalk and fall like a freaking tree.

Being cross-eyed screws up my depth perception. Normally I would never trip over something like that, but I just couldn’t see it. At least if I die from the resulting injuries they have it on tape. That would be about right, I always figured if I won the lottery it would be after I died.
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I haven’t posted in… way too long. There are reasons, but it’s already been so long I’ve forgotten most of them. Such is life, or just getting older. What hasn’t helped is trying to decide how to cover lost ground. Because I want to is why. When I obsess I really obsess.

So I’ve decided to just write something, leave it for the day, then move it to where it should have been posted. Eventually things should kind of fill up. That’s not important to you, and I don’t blame you for not caring. After all, it’s my neurosis, not yours.

I was tired Sunday morning. It was one of those mornings where you just want to stay in bed and sleep. It would be just one Sunday, and God has forgiven bigger things.
God would forgive me, but Superwife, the Holywife, would not. So I arose, it was a poor imitation of the Big One. It’s unlikely that on His resurrection he mumbled “Five more minutes?” but at least I was awake.

Get dressed in something presentable. Brush teeth. Comb hair that’s getting so thin it hardly seems worth the bother. But I do. Then we all pile in the van and away we go at speeds that can get you in trouble. The kids keep an eye peeled for hug-bugs, I keep an eye peeled for the local boys in blue. May I digress? Thank you, I’ll try to keep it short.

People race all kinds of crap. There are car races, bicycle races, motorcycle races, pickup races. Nearly every kind of conveyance built by man is raced. But, to my knowledge, not vans. Why not? Anybody who thinks you can’t race a van hasn’t ridden in one with my wife at the wheel on a Sunday morning. It’s almost a religious experience. Many times I’ve thought I was about to meet God. But He’s always waiting for us at church, so it’s always one more week of grace.

Anyway, back to church. And thanks for indulging me.

Admittedly, I haven’t been getting a lot out of church lately. With my double vision, there are two pastors, it messes with my synching lip movement to the sounds, therefore it can be hard to pay attention. Maybe, if I close my eyes and just focus on the voice it will be more clear. Focus, focus, but it’s not much better. If feels better though. So tired, it feels better. Relax and focus. It feels better….. Nudge.

Uh oh. A nudge can only mean one thing. I was sleeping. A quick peek at the wife- she’s smiling. Then look beyond her at Ms. Pikachu, she’s obviously suppressing a laugh. Hmmm, this can’t be good. I scribble on the bulletin, ‘Did I snore?’ The wife nods and writes, ‘But it wasn’t very loud.’ Uh huh, yeah, right.

It’s all my fault, of course. There’s an Air Force unit with the motto, ‘Anytime, Anywhere.’ They train to have that capability to drop bombs. I developed that capability to sleep. It’s a skill with no value to anyone but myself.

In contrast to a skill which is largely learned, there is the gift which is just there. My most noticeable gift is snoring. It comes from both sides of the family, you could almost say I was bred to snore. It takes little effort to sleep, it takes no effort to snore. It’s like walking around and getting fleas and the plague. Or something like that.

Crap, I can’t believe I fell asleep in church. Gotta know how big my faux paus was. Keep the head down and look around. Can’t be more than…. Thirty, may forty people who could have heard me. Not one of them seems to be looking at me, not one of them is smiling or sneering, or exhibiting any sign of annoyance. All of them are focused on the pastor, none of them are sleeping. Forget judges, the new standard is ‘Sober as a Baptist on Sunday morning.’

My few-seconds nap has me feeling positively high-res. Too bad there’s no way to gauge sleep efficiency. That little snooze would have rated high marks indeed. It’s one junk sport that would never get coverage on ESPN though, too bad. It’s as exciting as lumberjacking and has even less overhead. Hey, run them both at the same time and call it Sawing Wood Squared. Maybe not. Oh well.

After church the drive home is uneventful. No fear. No adrenaline rush. That is not to say it was slow. It never is. The Superwife drives to win. Everybody will be passed, just not as quickly.

We stop at HyVee to eat. Everybody gets Chinese except me. I get meatloaf- a freak in my own family. Not that I’m complaining. Everybody tolerates me pretty well. The Supernurse goes off to work. Ms Pikachu is doing computer drawings. Trainboy and I watch Cartoon Network. We laugh at 'Ed, Edd and Eddie' for a while. Then it’s just him watching. I fell asleep and took a nap.


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You say, “It’s nice that you’ve given us some nice homey moments with the family. And it’s nice that your visit to Mayo was nice, but how about something a little more edgy. It’s been weeks since you did the news, how about the news?. Or how about some urban angst?”

Well, I’m touched by your nice sentiments. But I don’t think I can do urban angst, so how about dirty and disgusting, or something or other? How about a little California politics? You get it anyway.

For a little history:
8/26/2003-SanDiegoTribune
While the sacred places of Native Americans should be protected, the imperious method chosen by lawmakers and the haste with which this new bureaucracy is being formed would scare Californians – if they knew about it. By rushing the sacred sites bill through in the last days of the legislative session, lawmakers are severely restricting public debate on the measure. The law of unintended consequences is sure to broadside the people of California shortly after the bill goes into effect.
Senate Bill 18 would empower the Native American Heritage Commission to regulate development on any land that includes or is close to an Indian sacred site. This would add a new, lengthy and costly regulatory process onto the already complex California Environmental Quality Act. There's no distance limit between a project and a sacred site, so the Native American Heritage Commission could have power over projects that are quite removed from the sacred site itself.
What's more, the bill includes very questionable secrecy provisions. It would make it a crime for anybody engaged in identifying a sacred site and gauging its importance to divulge any information about it to the public. The Native American Heritage Commission could conduct its proceedings on sites, including proposed mitigation measures required of developers, in secret. This would violate the public's right to know about the process of government. And it could prevent property owners from learning if there are sacred sites on or near their land until the commission acted against a project on that property.
Gov. Gray Davis vetoed a very similar bill last year but supports this year's effort. The current bill is co-authored by Senate President Pro Tem John Burton, D-San Francisco, and Sen. Denise Ducheny, D-San Diego.
Wow, sounds spooky. But wait, there’s more, and it gets worse.

7/20/03 CaliforniaLicensedForestersAssocLetter
The legislation also stipulates that the Native American Heritage Commission must determine whether a TTCS is within 5 miles of a proposed project’s boundaries during its lengthy review of a project listing proposal. There are currently 150,000 known prehistoric archeological sites in California. If only 1% of the known sites in our state were upgraded to TTCS status, this would mean that an area equivalent to ¾ of the entire state (75 million acres) would be covered by these TTCS circles.

That’s only 1% of the archeological sites to cover ¾ of the state. It certainly wouldn’t take much of an increase to cover the rest. Not that this might even matter, because the foresters’ letter is concerning archeological sites. The legislation may not be nearly so specific.

You may recall from the song ‘Paint With All the Colors of the Wind” from Pocahontas that, “every rock and every creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name.” The Indians might be content with an archeological interpretation, but they’ve already argued that an old tree is sacred. There can be an argument over “what would be logical?”, but a Federal judge would make the decision, not a State one. Would you be willing to bet your house on the outcome? Hint: Federal courts lean towards the Indians.

Either way ”sacred” is defined the Indians would have tremendous power over development. All they’d have to do is slap a ‘sacred site’ injunction against it and everything would grind to a halt. Negotiations would then be opened to decide the proper compensation the tribe is due for withdrawing its objection, a shakedown scheme that would make Jesse Jackson green with envy.

Time for a flashback:

10/2/02 National Assoc. of Tribal Historic Preservation Officers
Gov. Gray Davis' veto Monday of a controversial bill aimed at protecting California Indian sacred sites off tribal lands was met with sharp criticism from the Pechanga tribal chairman.

That’s right, they tried the legislation last year and Gray Davis vetoed it.

8/7/03 SanDiegoUnionTribune
Lt. Gov. Cruz Bustamante is gearing up to run for governor in the Oct. 7 recall election, breaking ranks with other prominent Democrats who promised to support Gov. Gray Davis and stay off the ballot.

9/8/03 TheDesertSun
Gov. Gray Davis was the darling of California Indians the last time he ran for office, but so far the tribes have abandoned him as he faces an Oct. 7 recall.

Campaign contribution records on the Secretary of State’s Web site as of last week show that Indian tribes have not donated a dime to Davis’ efforts against the recall, after donating $750,000 to the governor’s campaign against Republican Bill Simon last year.

Davis spends much of his time squeezing groups for campaign contributions. The Indians tried to play the game with the 2002 legislation, but they were simply outbid.

But Davis is willing to give them another chance. The legislation is up for his approval or veto again. Davis needs money to fight the recall.

9/4/2003 TheMercury
Davis, who vetoed a similar bill last year, received more than $1 million from Indian groups for his re-election campaign last year. And his endorsement of SB18 in July -- shortly before the recall effort qualified for the Oct. 7 election -- suggests to some critics that it was intended to woo more money from the tribes.
What am I bid for this fine piece of legislation? Going once, going twice…can’t you hear me? The Indians aren’t bidding it seems.

9/3/2003indianz

The Viejas Band of Kumeyaay Indians announced on Tuesday it will spend $2 million to boost the recall bid of California Lt. Gov. Cruz Bustamante (D).

Oh, they’re betting on another horse.



9/3/03 WashingtonPost
"This contribution is not a support for the recall, or a comment about Gov. Gray Davis," Tribal Vice Chairman Bobby L. Barrett said in a statement. "Our support comes from our people to a person we know as our friend, who we believe should be the next governor of California."
Yeah sure, but this is politics and you talk with your money. The rest is just… talk, ineffective talk.

9/5/03 TheContraCostaTimes

What's clear is that Indian tribes have anted up for a man who has pledged to loosen the reins that Gov. Gray Davis has held since he signed gambling compacts with 61 tribes in 1999 and early 2000. Bustamante has left little doubt that he would lift a 2,000-per-tribe cap on slot machines operated by those with compacts and end a near-moratorium on about 35 tribes who want them.
Bustamante also suggested that he would reverse an effort by Davis to close the state budget deficit by tapping Indian gaming revenues. Early this year, Davis said he wanted $1.5 billion from the casinos for state coffers -- about a quarter of Indian gaming revenues -- though he has since sliced that amount. Bustamante slammed Davis for "trying to arbitrarily take money from the tribes."
They found a more sympathetic seller. Davis was trying to shake them down for tax money to reduce the state deficits so he could keep his office. It’s a natural reaction, people don’t mind being bought half as much as they mind being extorted.
It’s pretty much a given that Davis has done a terrible job of running the state. If contributions are drying up, what to do, what to do. Gotta get some votes. So…


9/6/03 SacramentoBee

Beginning Jan. 1, an estimated 2 million immigrants living in California illegally will be able to apply for and obtain driver's licenses.


Instant voters. When they get their driver’s licenses they check the voter registration block and there you go, a grateful, newly registered voter. Except the illegals are going to be predominantly Hispanic, and may just be more inclined to vote for Cruz Bustamante. May? They’re excited about having a Hispanic governor.

But talk about a cynical voter grab. It means any illegal, ANY ILLEGAL, can get a valid driver’s license- the document that will get you on an airplane. Fly into Mexico, go across the border into California, declare yourself an illegal, and voila. 9/11 replays, anyone, anyone? For screwing with national security Davis should be recalled, put up against der vall, undt shot.

Another problem will be that this will encourage illegals to drive, and will they have insurance? Don’t drive defensively in California, drive paranoid.


9/15/03 WeeklyStandard

Indians may keep mum on the recall itself, but some of their money is riding on Lt. Gov. Cruz Bustamante. During the last election cycle Indian casinos gave the Fresno Democrat nearly $500,000. Last week, his gubernatorial campaign pocketed an additional $2 million courtesy of the Viejas band of Kumeyaay Indians, a tribe with 300 members that controls gambling east of San Diego. The contribution followed by a few days an $800,000 donation from two other tribes. "Cruz Bustamante is our friend," Viejas vice chairman Bobby Barrett explained. "He has sat down with our elders, learned our stories and our values."

That’s so special, he felt their feelings. I wonder what he’ll look like wearing a feather bonnet as an honorary chief. His friendliness has nothing to do with wanting their money. No it’s more than that. Surely he’s not power hungry like Davis. Of course he’s power hungry like Davis- he’s a politician.

But if I was paranoid, I’d say he’s enthusiastic about helping the Indians because it would be a legal way of getting rid of the gavachos. It would be a legal attempt at ethnic cleansing that would rid California of the European scourge and restore it to the latinos. The MEChA dream.
http://gladstone.uoregon.edu/~mecha/plan.html
So I’d have to guess Davis will be recalled, Bustamante will get the nomination, he’ll run against Schwarzenegger, and… like I’m a prophet. I don’t know.

I’d still like Schwarzenegger to win, and he may. If he does though he’ll probably be ineffective. The Dems control both houses, he’d have to work from a weak position.

It could be said that stringing together a bunch of newspaper clippings doesn’t prove anything. That events may have been due to other factors and there’s no denying that. Only time will tell if Bustamante signs the legislation, and what the consequences are if he does. Unless you’re a prophet, you just wait and see.

No, I haven’t been Blogging much. I work. I watch movies with the wife. I sleep. Not necessarily in that order.

We watched 'To Kill a Mockingbird.' I liked it. I liked it a lot. Gregory Peck was outstanding, again. The only thing that bothers me about his performance is that I don’t seem to become a fan of anybody until they’re dead. Then it’s too late to write them a gushing fan letter and get an autograph, maybe an 8x10 glossy (do they still do those?). Such a waste.

If you don't know, it's a film about racial prejudice in the south. It's centered around a black man falsely accused of raping a white woman. Gregory... Peck plays his defense attorney, Atticus Finch.

The kids in the film were as curious and annoying as real kids. I found it particularly annoying that they called their dad by his first name. He should have back handed the brats and said, “Just call me Dad, okay? I don’t wan’t flavah, I want juice.” Or something like that.

Robert Duvall gets a fine turn as a spooky neighbor, a harbinger of greater spooky parts to come. Maybe he's just spooky and not acting at all. If that's the case he's not acting and he should give the Oscar back.

It was shot in black and white in 1962. Color film was common by then. But black and white was a logical choice. After all, it’s a film about race relations, and right and wrong.

Anyway, it’s a great film and you should see it. Especially now that Gregory Peck is dead.

We also watched ‘Gods and Generals.’

No Gregory Peck. It is the first in what is supposed to be a civil war trilogy, God help us. The film focuses on Stonewall Jackson. Is the portrayal accurate? I have no idea.

However, you do get a non-spooky Robert Duvall as Robert E. Lee, so he can keep the Oscar.

Keep in mind, I’m a Christian. Christ is a friend of mind. But they seem to spend a lot more time talking about their religion than they do prosecuting the war. Maybe southern gentlemen generals are just that way, but it seems… unnatural.

Says Jackson, “My wife’s lemonade is too sweet, not the way God intended. Fetch me some Godly sour lemonade.” Alright, that’s a flagrant misquote, but you get the idea.

My best guess is that Ted Turner is an atheist and this film is a diabolical attempt to be so preachy it will turn all viewers into atheists too. Either that, or he wants Jane back in bed. I dunno, you choose. I don’t care, I’m not watching it again.

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Went back to work.
To catch up I've posted everything day by day back to the 28th.
Your assignment, should you decide to accept it, is to read it. Schools open, think of it as homework. Or maybe not.

[ Mon Sep 01, 04:59:06 AM | Dale | edit ]
Went back to the in-laws. Ms. Pikachu got stung by bees. Ah, country livin’.


[ Tue Sep 02,
I wait for Dr. Uhm’s call. It does not come.
I feel a song coming on. Yes, it's definitely a song.
The way-yay-ting is the hardest part.
It was not worth the wait.

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I start the day with a call to Uhm. He’s not available so I leave a message with the phone answering person. She assures me she’ll post it where he can see it. Around 1:00 I find his business card. His e-mail address is on it. Come to papa! I e-mail him. About 3:30 the Superwife calls me downstairs, Dr Uhm is on the line. He says he got my e-mail. High tech, gotta love it.

He restates what he said before. He still thinks it’s a cholesterol related problem. I’m to give it a couple months to heal on it’s own. Okay. But I still think a one-nerve stroke is kind of weird.

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Church. It's hard to get much out of a service when you're seeing double. For someone who synchs sound to lip movement it's a losing proposition.
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Superwife wakes us all up early. Ms. Pikachu did not finish her peanut butter cup last night. It is now covered with ants. The ants know good chocolate when they see it. Or feel it. Or whatever it is ants do. The kids smash well-fed ants. We go swimming. Who’d a thunk?

Then we head back to Rochester. I say, “Why don’t we eat at the IHOP over there?” It’s only a block away. Ms. Pikachu said she wanted to eat there last night when we drove by. Silence. Okay, fine. Drive on.

By the time we get to Rochester everybody is hungry. Superwife decides to pull into a Golden Corral. We like buffets. Everybody can find something they like, and then gorge themselves like the good Romans we aren’t.

While we’re eating I notice Trainboy is drinking brown gravy by sucking it through a straw. I say, “I’m sure I’ve never seen anybody drink gravy through a straw before.” The Superwife replies, “He really likes gravy.” Trainboy is pleased, “Well, you’ve seen it now.” Yeah, he showed his old dad a thing or two.

We get back to Mayo, and I see the eye doctor, whose name I don’t remember either. Forgetting names is nothing personal for me, I just usually don’t remember them. In contrast the wife never forgets them. Which is why when the doctors ask me questions, she usually answers.

The chairs in the waiting area are lined up side by side and they're covered in a grey vinyl. This is not the neuro area at all. You can see the reasoning- neuro makes them lots of money, neuro gets the best of everything. The optic area is not a money maker selling glasses, they don't invest a lot of money there. At least that's the way I'm calling it.

The eye doctor turns down the lights. He’s wearing a hat with a light on it, kind of like a coal miner. He tilts my chair back. I tell him I’m suddenly flashing on a prior alien abduction experience. Not even a smile. This guy is so sedate he’s probably getting pharmaceutical help. Or maybe he’s a believer. I dunno.

Then we’re done and it’s time to head for home. Dr. Uhm had told us he would call Tuesday. If we don’t hear from him, we’re to call him Wednesday. Alrighty, it's a plan.

My first appointment was at 7:30. We figured we should leave by 3:30 to make it to Mayo on time. The Superwife woke us all up at 3:30. Uh oh. Everybody dresses and we’re out the door. Superwife drives because she has to be safer than her cross-eyed husband. I sleep almost the whole way there. She drops me off at the front of the Mayo building and she finds a place to park. I walk up to the desk on 7th floor at 7:25, that’s right, I’m five minutes early.

The neurosurgery waiting area is very nice. Tasteful, clothe upholstered chairs arranged so it doesn’t feel too crowded.

I see Dr. Uhm, a neuro-oncologist. He’s very pleasant and has a good sense of humor. We like him. He is skeptical of surgery. He thinks the problem is my high cholesterol level. Perhaps I’ve had something like a stroke that has affected the nerve.

While we’re talking to him the kids get bored and go back to the car. I’m just amazed that an 11 and 6 year-old are self-confident enough to just head back to the car. The parking ramp is across the street and connected by an underground tunnel. So it wasn’t a matter of crossing traffic, but still I’m amazed.

We fetch the kids from the car and head for the Mayo cafeteria for lunch. On the way we pass a chocolate shop. Ms Pikachu goes manic. I buy her a humungous peanut butter cup. We bag it for later. We arrive at the cafeteria. The food is unremarkable but the prices aren’t. Even a freaking egg salad sandwich is about $3.00. But it’s food, and we eat. But just a few words of advice- if you ever go to Mayo, find some other place to eat. There are plenty of them downtown within walking distance.

In the afternoon we do a consult with the neurosurgeon, whose name I forget. Dr Uhm is present also. Both doctors wonder, “Your one of Spetzler’s patients, what are you doing here?” Spetzler is in Phoenix and did my first surgery. He’s the big dog of brain surgery. These guys obviously respect him and that’s nice.

They keep asking me questions. The Supernurse keeps answering them. She knows the answers; I don’t, so it’s just as well. They ask about my recovery in Phoenix, the Supernurse gets downright technical, I have no idea what she’s saying. But the docs are impressed. Uhm tells us I have a rare kind of tumor. Well I feel special.

I ask him about the Decadron, should I keep taking it? He asks if it’s had any affect. “It keeps me hungry.” All the medical people laugh, it’s the biggest laugh I get. Uhm tells me to stop taking it.

They ask me to show them where Spetzler entered my skull. I turn my head and pull my right ear forward to show the crease. “Oh, he went under.” They sound a little excited. It’s almost like I’ve just given away a trade secret.

The neurosurgeon, who shall remain nameless because I still don’t know his name, looks at the MRI’s and says he doesn’t see a need for surgery either.

Well okay, that’s fine; just get me my vision back.

My next appointment is for tomorrow with an eye doctor. We go to the eye doctor’s unit to see if I can get in today, so we don’t have to stay overnight. The receptionist says it’s impossible, but if I want to get in earlier I can show up at 7:00 in the a.m. and wait and see. Like that’s going to happen. We can safely forget that idea and show up at the appointed 2:30.

Trainboy has always wanted to go to a Legoland. There’s one at the Mall of America. So we hop in the car and away we go.

We pull into the Days Inn across the street from the mall. It costs about $110. Hokey smokes Bullwinkle. I can’t remember the last time we spent a hundred bucks on a room. Decision time. Pay for the room, or drive around looking for something cheaper? We have a limited amount of time to spend at the mall and we’re losing it minute by minute. I pay for the room. It’s nice. The room’s nice. It has a nice pool/sauna/whirlpool. Everybody’s happy. I do not tell the Cheapwife how much it cost. That would make her unhappy. Don’t ask and I won’t tell.

We head over to the mall.

We head straight for Legoland. Because we have to make sure Trainboy gets to browse the Lego displays. And there are certainly plenty of displays showing how you can use Legos. We must blow at least a half-hour in there. Trainboy gets a Lego kit, and a Legoland flag T-shirt. He’s a happy boy.

Hungry. The decadron keeps me hungry. It hasn’t worn off yet. We eat at the Rainforest Café. It’s a restaurant that’s geared to kids. Everythings done up to look like a rainforest. There are large aquariums with saltwater fish. It’s impressive. So are the prices, but not the portions. It doesn’t matter, the wife is happy, the kids are happy. I should be happy, but I can tell it won’t be long and I’ll be hungry again. How expensive? $15 for fish and chips.

Trainboy does not like his pizza. I try it. For a kids place this is not kid’s pizza. The sauce does not taste like kids’ pizza. Definitely a gourmet sauce, how could they blow it so badly? He won’t eat fish unless the tartar sauce is the way he likes it. The tartar sauce is spicy, so he won’t eat the fish. He eats my French fries instead. Is everybody happy? Yes, they are.

We head over to the Critter Cove, or something like that. It’s an aquarium. Part of it is a moving walkway that takes you through a clear plastic tunnel where the aquarium goes overhead. So you’re virtually surrounded by fish, turtles, and sharks. Have I left anyone out? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

It’s a nice aquarium. It is. But it’s nothing compared to the one in Gatlinburg, TN.

Then it’s on to Camp Snoopy. An indoor amusement park, this must be kid heaven. The kids go on the ferris wheel. I am not going on any rides with my vision screwed up. It’s too easy to imagine blowing fish and chips all over Minnesota. We wouldn’t want them to think Iowans are rude. On the other hand I could tell them I'm from Nebraska. Naaah.

The Superwife and Ms. Pikachu ride the rollercoaster. Trainboy rides the train and a couple more rides. There are still a few points left on the ticket. Ms. Pikachu rides the roller coaster again, all by herself. She flies by, arms over her head. She’s happy, you can tell by the smile on her face.

There’s a little time left, so we go through Legoland again. Happy Trainboy.

Back to the hotel. Everybody wants to swim. Can’t swim. The pool closes when we get there. Oh well. Tomorrow we shall wake early and swim. Uh huh, yeah.

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Okay, I’m depressed. The wife picked up the MRI’s from the hospital for the trip to Mayo. We took a look. I had hoped that the tumor had somehow extended away from the brainstem in some easier to get at way. But that doesn’t seem to be the case. It’s just a little more forward than before and putting pressure on the optic nerves. Crap.


I’m grateful that it hasn’t caused the extreme trigeminal neuralgia episodes it did before. But the whole double vision thing is irritating. It’s like looking through one of those old stereo-opticon devices and not getting the pictures lined up. Driving is a pain, and is best done with one eye closed. You only try merging onto the interstate once, after that it’s just side streets. Fun, fun, fun.


The wife tells me not to worry. We’ve been there, done that. But I don’t want to do it again, because I’ve been there, done that. The brain surgery and after-effects were no fun. I was weak for weeks after I got out of the hospital.

The spinal tap was no fun either. Just a little tip here- if someone ever says you need a spinal tap- while they’re doing it exhale as hard as you can, arch your back, and try to touch your toes with your shoulders. Three times is not a charm, it’s three times the pain. Get it right the first time. No, I am not looking forward to this. But I have to do something.

So tonight, I had to do something about the car’s brakes. They’d been screeching for a while. If would be a bummer to drive up to Rochester and have the brakes fail on the way. It would be… cosmic, in a black hole comedy kind of way. So I did the brakes.

While we’re at it, how about some brake tips? Just in case you want to save a few bucks and get greasy too. Firstly, maintenance manuals will tell you to bleed the brake lines. That would be stupid, that would be making the job bigger than it has to be. Just unscrew the master cylinder cap (where you put in the brake fluid) and pump the brake pedal a few times, it will relieve the pressure just fine.

Loosen the lug nuts and jack up the side. And herein lays the days comedy. By the time I ‘d started to do this it was already late evening. I slide the jack under the car, it’s very dark under there, and I’m seeing double. But everything seems good. Remove tire, remove brake caliper. Easy enough. Remove outer brake pad, leave the inner one on. That way you can use a C-clamp to compress the cylinder by clamping down on the inner brake pad. It’s slick, it would be more work to do it any other way. After compression, remove the inner brake pad. Add new pads, reassemble, and away you go. Manly braking, screech free. So quick it’s a waste to pay somebody to do it.

Ideally anyway. Not tonight.

Because I tried to do it too fast. And I was visually impaired too. And sometimes somebody should pull my Mensa card. As you recall, I placed a jack under a car hardly able to see it. I thought it was a good placement, it was not. I did not bother to set the parking brake or block the wheels. The car was flat, and I’ve never had a problem with a vehicle rolling. It was all done too fast and too familiar.

As I was working on a caliper I noticed the jack was leaning because two of its wheels were in a seam in the concrete surface. But it didn’t seem like a big deal. I just figured, “Don’t put your head in the wheel well.” The wife came out to help. As I tried to line up the bolts in the caliper by feel, and not putting my head in the wheel well to see, she pushed on it to try to help line it up. She pushed in the direction of the jack’s leaning. The jack leaned farther. It slowly rolled onto it’s side like an elephant taking a nap. Kawunmp. Well, that was interesting. Nobody’s fault but my own, I broke every safety rule and got busted. Crap.

Wonderboy held the light. He was impressed. He said his Dad could fix anything, his Dad should be a mechanic. If he were a little older he'd know his Dad had just royally crapped it up. Sure I felt unworthy of his praise, but it was awfully nice to hear him speak so well of me.

Then I got out the scissors jack, jacked it up, and finished the job. Nobody got hurt, it was a good lesson. I promise not to be so stupid again, I can be taught. I got washed up and we took it for a test drive. The wife drove. Manly braking, no screeching. She can pound the brakes all the way to Rochester, we’re good to go. I just don’t wanna go.


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The status of things:

We have more ice cubes than we’ve ever had. If you need ice cubes you just let me know.

The brain thing. The pressure on my right eye makes me cross-eyed. Past about arms length I see double. I tell the wife it’s almost like being married to twins. She doesn’t find it very amusing. I’ll have to give up the pitch to convert to Mormonism.

The steroid I take to combat the brain swelling can cause mood swings. It sure does. I become very impatient with the kids and have to tell myself to shut up, even more than usual. The wife? I just say “yes dear” like usual and we get along fine.

At work, Don, High Sheriff and Security Grand Poobah, was sharing his thoughts re my upcoming surgery. He figures that since the problem is pressure on the eye the surgeon will just pop my eye out and Roto-Rooter around in there to clean it out.

There’s a happy image- laying there with an eyeball hanging out while a surgeon gets to practice his plumber’s snake technique through my eye socket. But wait, there’s more.

James, a co-worker, overheard this happy conversation and felt his own need to share. James used to work at the VA hospital. James said, “They’re really careful about working around the frontal lobes. They’ll probably keep you conscious so they can keep track of how you’re doing.” Thanks a lot.

Now I’m going to be laying on a table, fully conscious, and they’re going to pop out an eyeball and roto rooter my brain while saying, “How ya’ doing?” Like I’ll feel like talking. I’ll certainly have to be under some kind of anesthetic. So I’ll probably say something in a semi-delirious state like, “How ‘bout them Hawks?” and the surgeon will flinch because he’s a Gophers fan. I am so screwed. I’m really looking forward to this.
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I’ve been behind in the blogging, so this morning a little catch-up. It may have already been done to death, but it hasn’t been done here yet.

Arnold as California Guv’ner. Oh why not. Reagan showed you can go from acting on the screen to acting in real life and succeed. Not only succeed but have acolytes that would put him on Rushmore. If Ann Coulter ever has a kid it will be because she gave in to carnal thoughts while thinking of Ronald Reagan. Just don’t tell her husband, if she has one. She would certainly nickname the kid, regardless of gender, ‘Li’l Gipper.’ Remember, you read it here first.

But back to Arnold. He’ll almost certainly win. The left-wingers will beat him with everything they can come up with- nothing will be too petty. I predict, I predict, even his Aryan Marine haircut will become the stuff of punditry. Just remember I did it first.

Gray Davis? He’s dead meat. He’s going to learn how few political friends you have when you’re no longer useful. Twisting in the wind, he’s going to be a more gruesome spectacle than hanging chad was in Florida.

Of course, just because his political friends abandon him doesn't mean they'll glom onto Arnold. Which is why we may be treated to the spectacle of Arnold campaigning while Barbara Streisand and Cybil Shepherd bite his ankles. Expect Arnold to shake them off with customary good humor.

He has larger groups to deal with. A big part of California’s population is Hispanic. I’m not even going to try to get a percentage, it just seems that obvious. So it seems that the Hispanics could have a lot to say about who wins the guv’nah ship. Arnold can capitalize on his own status as an immigrant to suck up, though the Hispanics might complain they got there first. The problem might be that Hispanics probably vote Democrat, part of the whole minority “thing.” I’m not going to research that either.

I like Arnold. He makes it easy. So here’s a bone for Arnold. To get that big Hispanic vote- one little phrase. “Ich Bin Ein Hispanic.” Sure, the Hispanics might prefer it a little more correct, like “Lo soy Hispanico.” But you gotta admit, the German rings. It brings into play that whole Kennedy thing he married into.

Other contestants- Gary Coleman. Well that's different. He announced he would not accept any campaign contributions. Across the country were heard cries of anguish as check books slapped shut. It seems a little strict of him not to let the people express their free speech via contribution, but maybe he's more Aryan than Arnold.

Gotta go to work. If not more of this later, you’ll get my slant on Queer Eye. Oh boy.



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Home Improvement- The Icemaker

I finally installed a water line to the fridge, and therein lays today’s tale, as it were.

The installation had been giving me fits. There seemed to be no satisfactory answer because the fridge is in a corner. In the basement, below the fridge, is the fuse box. Yes, fuse box is correct, it’s never been upgraded to breakers. You say “So what?” Well the “what” is that building code does not allow installation of a water line within three feet of a fuse or breaker box.

Measure out three feet from the edge of the fuse box and you wind up about a foot and a half to the side of the fridge. So I figured I could run some ½ inch PVC from the washing machine line up through the floor, cap it off, and tap into it for the line to the fridge. Sure, it would work, but it would be an ugly thing to have on the kitchen floor.

The wife wanted her icemaker. So we got everything we’d need from Home Depot to do the job. One of the things needed was a basic ice-maker connection kit. The choice was plastic or copper, each kit had a seven foot length of tubing. It’s not as much as I want. It’s a 4’1/2 foot drop to the washer line. There won’t be much slack for moving the fridge.

Copper is a hassle. I picked up the kit using plastic pipe. The friendly HD friendly person said, “No, don’t use that, use copper.” And he handed me a kit using copper tubing. Dear God. But being weak-willed I assented. Now we’re going to have copper tubing stretched across the floor. Crap. Damn me for being spineless, but spineless I am.

But I can’t bring myself to drill that ½ inch hole in the floor. It would be ugly. It would be final. Can’t do it, there has to be a better way.

Maybe… Tom would know a better way. Tom is the guy next door whose initials should be DIY. He does everything- tears down cars, welds, fabricates. His day job for the city seems to be just to get money for his projects. He has a work ethic to shame an ant. So why not ask Tom?

I step outside, and there’s Tom walking up our shared driveway. Could this be a sign? Indeed. I explain my predicament; he seems somewhat amused. “Why don’t you just go to Menards and get some plastic pipe, run that through the floor and hook that into the washer line?” But if I do that to come up behind the fridge, won’t I be violating code?
“Nah, that’s just for any joints in case they leak. You’ll just be running tubing from the washer line to the back of the fridge. You’ll be okay.”

There it was, simple, beautiful, easy. I coulda kissed him, but he’s not that kind of guy.

God forbid that I should run into the same guy at Home Depot, so to Menards I go. Their installation kit has 25 feet of tubing. It just keeps getting better. We be on a roll. This suddenly feels very good.

Well it felt good for a little bit. I drill a small hole in the kitchen floor behind the fridge to make sure it’ll be ok. I want the hole at the tile’s seam, so anybody who ever replaces the tile has an easier job of it. I leave the drill bit in the floor so I can find the hole easier. I check it downstairs, nothing. Apparently all the time spent watching Star Trek has not been wasted. No doubt about it, I’ve discovered a wormhole. The drill bit goes into the kitchen floor and comes out somewhere around Alpha Centauri. I hope the Alphas do not find me rude for arriving unannounced. Hopefully they will know I come in peace, but a drill bit coming through looks kind of serious.

The house is overbuilt in its 100 year-old way. Maybe a wider, longer bit would reach. It does not. Screw this, we can go the other way. Into the basement with the drill, put it up as far back as possible, hope and a prayer, and away it goes. And may I just say here, thank God and the inventor he inspired, for cordless drills. It definitely went through something. We have to go upstairs to see now. Oh, boy, oh, boy, it’s like Christmas, only maybe destructive.

The hole is about a foot in from the wall. Dear God. Stone foundation like a freaking castle. Of course the hole is nowhere near a tile seam. Someday some guy will curse me for giving him a crappy job, but I’ll probably be dead by then, or living on Alpha Centauri.

The tubing is ¼ inch. I go crazy and go to 17/64 for that extra 1/64 of play. Oh baby, it slips through so nicely, you’d almost think I knew what I was doing.

I figure, what if I get the freak one in a million bad saddle valve and it starts running as soon as I hook it up to the water supply? Better have the fridge end hooked up first.
So next up, do the compression fitting on the back of the fridge. Snug but not too tight, don’t want to ruin the fitting. Leave the wrench right there in case it’s needed.

Then it’s time for the saddle valve on the water line. This seems kind of rinky-dink to me. You clamp the valve onto the water line, screw it in, back it off, and like magic you’ve got a water connection. Okay, but it still seems kind of rinky-dink to me. Or did I already say that?

Being married to the Supernurse the union area must first be cleaned, scrubbed, sterilized, cauterized, and swabbed with baby wipes. This is health ya’ know, sterile procedure. Clamp, screw, unscrew, and the water flows like magic. No drips, good job for me. I follow the slow flow up the tubing. Oh baby, this could be so good. It reaches the ceiling; I run upstairs to watch. You can’t get this on cable.

Slowly, slowly it reaches the fridge. Then it’s there with a little bubbling. I’ve no problem with letting it clear air out of the line. Bubbling stops and a drip comes out. Grab the handy wrench, and a quarter turn later dry off the top, no more water, no problem.

Oh baby, this is good. Except there’s the little matter of “Does the icemaker work?” The Superwife flips the switch, nothing. It was accidentally tripped before and it made a grumbling sound, but this is nothing, not even a hum. There’s nothing to do but wait and hope it doesn’t mean a service call.

Two hours later, ice cubes! Or a reasonable facsimile thereof. They’re not really cubes. They’re more like half-slices of canned cranberry sauce. As if ice cube description is at all important. But it works. The Superwife is happy. I knowledgeably inform her that the first three loads must be discarded, system flush you know. You can read it in the manual, I did.

When I got home today she told me every once in a while she and the kids would open the freezer to see how many cubes we had. Sometimes it takes so little to make them happy. For a few days anyway, we’re living high on the hog. Tonight, at supper, to drink we had … ice water with non-cubic cubes.

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Okay no blog last night, let me explain.
The Tyranny of Pigs, and the Meaning of Life

I got home and as soon as I walk in the front door the pig whistling starts. They seem to be led by the brown and white one, Buddy Jr. (Buddy Jr. is a female and she’s…. conflicted). I make it to the kitchen, they keep whistling, I turn around to get them the greens they have become accustomed to. The wife says, “Oh no, don't do that. They were outside all afternoon they shouldn't be hungry.” They keep whistling for a few minutes.

The Superwife makes Hungry Jack casserole. Ms. Pikachu is ecstatic. If you're not familiar- Hungry Jack Casserole starts with a layer of baked beans and hamburger mixed with barbecue sauce and onions. Then it’s covered by biscuits and topped off with a layer of cheese.

All Ms. Pikachu could say was "It's just a big pile of gas material. I am going to fart all night." I told her she would fart alone. Not much to say, but it was all I could think of.

Trainboy got caught up in the excitement too. "I'm going to fart too!" Dreams of tooting like a steam engine’s whistle I imagine. “Toot! Toot! I love that sound!

After we stuffed ourselves with the stuff stars are made of the Holywife informed me some group of spiritual people were gathering at some spiritual retreat and they were going to walk a spiritual symbol in prayer. Uh huh, yeah, whatever. When do we leave?

The kids did not want to go. It was just the two of us. We went to the prayer thing, when we got there nearly everybody was already gone. Imagine that, we were late. It was on a large acreage within city limits- a nice piece of ground, it’s only a matter of time before they sell out and it's all put under concrete. That would be a conversion to a shrine to the Almighty Dollar. But you knew that.

Anyway, we headed out on the nature trail and communed with nature. The communing consisted of a deer that ran away, various wild flowers, and mosquitoes. The mosquitoes did not run away. Mother nature can be a bit bloodthirsty, even while you're trying to center yourself and achieve oneness with the oneness.

The event was to walk through a labyrinth. Think of a circle about 30 feet across with one entrance into the circle. Inside the circle is a maze with only one route that will use the entire circle.

The trail was marked by a single line of bricks and was only one brick high- easy to follow, tempting to cheat. Careless travelers had stepped on some of them, bumping them over or misaligning them. Can't have that; have to put them back where they belong. We will leave it better than we found it. As I do the wife gets out ahead of me.

The wife stops and asks, "Didn't you say that bending over makes your eyesight worse? Why are you doing that?" I tell her I am not bending over, I'm squatting, so my head stays up. It needs to be done, and I'm doing it. I continue to walk the path and it isn't long before she bends over to straighten a brick. Ah, love.

The seeker of truth turns and turns, sometimes in the direction you want to go, sometimes not. Sometimes you get sand in your shoes. When you get to the center, why you've reached it. Then you turn around and go out the way you came, spiritually thankful there's no door to hit you on the butt on your way out. Hmmm, a deep thought, this is what we came for.

There is a bell to ring. It can be rung at the start or end of the journey. Supposedly it reverberates with the oneness. Maybe so. But it seems to me that if there are eight notes there is a higher chance of striking discord. Add in sharps and flats and the odds get even worse. What about the Superwife, suppose it works for me but doesn’t for her? It would seem an awfully selfish act then. The odds for total satisfaction seem long indeed. I do not ring the bell. I will ring the bell if there’s $40 million or more at stake.

On the way home She tells me we can pick up the equipment for installing the refrigerator’s ice machine. As we near the Mecca of DIY she asks, “Menards, or Home Depot?” I tell her either will do, certain that oneness will be attained whichever way she chooses. Home Depot it is.

We get a filter, some copper tubing and a length of ½ inch PVC pipe for the water line. We’re running out of time. Our friendly customer helper asks what we need for joints. The fridge is above the main fuse box. Code does not allow water pipe within three feet of the fuse box. Quick guess, six elbows and a tee and we’re done.

On the way home I realize I’d forgotten a shut-off valve, necessary for the filter changes, and a cap- unless we want a fountain in the kitchen. We did not achieve oneness. Oneness is not achieved in a rush.

We get home and the whistling starts again. They whistle and whistle. Buddy Jr. climbs on top of her hut, stands on her rear feet and whistles like Benita Mussolini inspiring the masses. The others gather around. Benita whistles and nods. The genuflecting hairballs whistle in response. It almost sounds like “Duce, Duce, Duce!”

Needing to head off the revolt I go outside and gather dandelion and plantain greens. I place them in their boxes, and even Il Duce shuts up and eats. It’s a sad thing to admit, but sometimes achieving civil peace is nothing more than bread and circuses.

Supermom and Ms. Pikachu head off to read before bed. Trainboy watches a video. I sit on the couch to keep him company, and fall asleep before he does. And that’s why I didn’t blog last night.

Hungry Jack Casserole (The stuff stars are made of)
Brown together and drain:
1 lb hamburger
½ cup chopped onion
½ cup chopped green pepper

Add:
¾ cup barbecue sauce
2-1 lb cans pork and beans
2 T brown sugar

Heat and pour into 9/13” pan. Top with a tube of biscuits or crescent rolls (unrolled).
Cover biscuits with 1 cup Cheddar cheese (shredded).
Bake at 375 for 25-30 minutes.

Best served with sides of Beano and acidophilus.
Airwick makes a delightful centerpiece.

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I got my vision back last night for about a half-hour, then the steroid ran out. Took another one, two a day is allowed, and got some sleep.

Today I'm at work, oh boy. Seems odd to say it, but it feels good to be here.

Tonight we blog.

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Here's the news- the brain tumor is pushing forward on my right eye. Another brain surgery is required. The first one was supposed to take care of me for life. Oh, well.

Tuesday morning I'm to get a prescription for Decadron (sp?) to relieve the swelling. Then some surgical consults will be done.

Ever get the feeling God is shaking you up? "Why aren't you listening? We used to talk, talk to me." No doubt about it, I've become a miserable excuse for a Christian.

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I haven't posted in a while, but there's a reason. I've been seeing double. My doctor wants an MRI done of my head to check for bleeding. Oh, boy. If I'm admitted I'll be at Mercy Health Center.

After church it was time to eat, and then it was time for… the train. The Frugalwife raised an eyebrow, maybe two. She asked, “Was that expensive?” Time to dance. “Kinda, but it was cheaper than buying it on the web.” Well, it was true. The shipping would not have been cheap.

Being a fairly large assembly it took a while to assemble. The track was easy to assemble. Though he could certainly do it, Trainboy let me assume the drudgework of assembly, easy as it was, while he examined the train. The boxcar doors work! Two ovals, a bridge, and he was in business. “Whoo, whoo! I love that sound.”

As the day went on we added more parts- the automatic gates for the road intersection, the tippler to dump coal in the coal car, and rocks in the tipping gondola, the unloader for the gondola.

The kids took turns controlling the train, using the other accessories and throwing the switches. We had to turn down the lights so the train engines lights could be seen.

The Supernurse went to work and I fell asleep on the couch. I slept the contented sleep of a parent with happy kids.

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As you may recall from last Saturday’s post Trainboy brought his new train engine with him when he visited cousins. The coupler was broken when he played with it there. I’d glued it and thought it worked. The glue did not hold. I have many glues, none of them worked. They apparently make the couplers out of super-anti-adhesive plastic. Crap.

After Supernurse went to work we headed for the hobby shop. Maybe they would have a replacement coupler. The lady who runs the shop was busy helping a customer so we wandered around for a while. We looked at the train layout they’re building. It has a bridge- he likes bridges. It has a tunnel and he likes tunnels too. He thought it was a fine thing.

The train I had bought Trainboy for his birthday was a Bachman with EZ-lock tracks. From the look of it the track would just snap together. From the look of it. The reality of it was that it still used connectors on each rail for the electrical contact. Trainboy prides himself on being able to do things for himself, but the track was too difficult for him. It was sometimes aggravating for me, requiring pliers to straighten a bent connector.

So I figured there’s got to be a better way. It does no good for Trainboy to have a train he can’t play with when he wants. So we looked at the train sets too. Life- Like sets use a system they call Power Lock. The tracks snap together side-ways and don’t use rail connectors. Hmm…

The set he already has is a fairly small oval. It seemed reasonable that if he liked it we’d just expand it. Buying a new system would mean the first one is either junk, or rarely used. There is such a thing as cutting your losses though and this seemed like such a time.

I picked out a set that’s much larger than his original one. It’s a double oval almost six foot long and about four feet wide. The ovals overlap, meaning it has a bridge- a good thing. It also comes with a mountain so it has a tunnel, the other good thing. There are also loaders and unloaders for coal and rocks, moving gateways, boxcars, gondolas and the always-important caboose. Guys like toys.

He liked it, no doubt about it. Trainboy looked at me and with a very concerned voice asked, “Is it expensive?” He didn’t want to get his hopes up and then see it go back up on the shelf. “Kinda, but we can buy it if you think you would like it.” “Okay.” He was pleased, me too. In the back of my head was a little voice threatening, “How are you going to explain this?” I didn’t care… much.


When we got to the register I asked the lady who owns the store if she had a coupler for a HO scale Bachman. She told me Bachman only came in G and O scale. There were other customers waiting so I wasn’t going to disagree with her in front of them. Call me a weenie but that’s just the way I am. She told me to check the train for it’s make and get back to her to order one. Okay.

We left the store with one large train set and one happy Trainboy. We put it in the trunk and headed out of town to get Ms. Pikachu. She was not there. They’d gone to the zoo. This made me feel even better about the train purchase. After Ms. Pikachu had gotten to go to Adventureland, the zoo, and stayed over at a cousins it seemed fair that he got a train.

We went to older brother, Herr Ronald’s, and Trainboy played with his cousins. Eventually we got the call that Ms. Pikachu was back and away we went. She was happy. Trainboy was happy. They slept soundly on the way home.

-lifelike trains

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The Supernurse went to work and it was just Trainboy and me. He got out his half-his-size-but-still-only-$3.00-at-Wal Mart squirt gun. He showed me how he waters the plants with it. Each plant got three pumps.

When it got dark we went inside and watched some Cartoon Network, because there’s no such thing as too much Ed, Edd, and Eddie.

At bedtime we read ‘Green Eggs and Ham.’ That was it for us.

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Bad news when I got home. The mother of the other Guinea pigs died. Apparently when they shot the video outside yesterday it got too hot.

When she’d had her litter this past winter one of the babies didn’t make it. Since the ground was frozen it wasn’t possible to bury it. The Supermom wrapped it up and put it in the deep freeze. She’d intended to bury it when it got warmer, but it just never seemed like the right time.

They held a little funeral and buried the momma with its baby. Everybody cried, Skunk was a good pet.

We took Heather back home. Ms. Pikachu brought along some clothes and stayed over. She looks forward to this. The last time she visited she was excited that she got to help clean out the chick coop. Imagine that. If she only had the same enthusiasm for cleaning up her room it wouldn’t look like a chicken coop.

It was a quiet drive home.

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When I got home the Superwife told me that she and the kids had shot a movie. They wrote it, storyboarded it, and shot it with the camcorder. It was their version of ‘The Three Little Pigs.’

They used the Guinea pigs for the actors. Costumes were made, including a hat with ears for the fox. Watching the video it was obvious they’d greatly enjoyed themselves. They even had a blooper segment.

We went to see ‘The Lion King’ at the IMAX. I’ve always liked the movie. It has some cute moments, drama, and a fine score. I was looking forward to seeing it on a huge screen. It was a disappointment.

Enlarging the picture so much often made the lines look like they were drawn on a chalkboard. Sometimes the images were so large and moved so fast I couldn’t follow them. The kids have played the DVD too many times to count, so I’m more than familiar with the film. Even knowing everything I couldn’t keep up. It became just a swirl of color. If I’m not getting the experience across think of it this way- watching TV with your nose against the screen.

But the sound was good. Not that it mattered much. I have a nice surround sound system. Part of my system is a 15-inch, 300-watt sub-woofer that can shake the floor. So I wasn’t impressed when the elephants walked during “I Just Can’t Wait to be King.” If you don’t have such a system, and you really want to feel the elephants walk, then go ahead and see it. But I can’t recommend it. The Superwife feels the same way. However, the kids liked it.

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Shortly after getting home the Superwife arrived. She and the kids had gone back to visit her sister and to bring back Heather, a niece, for a visit. In short order we headed to the Playstation for pizza and to let the kids play. The Playstation is one of those places with multi-levels of tubes and slides. The kids love it, but no parent will go in there without knee pads.

An indoor playground, pizza, pop, and lots of tokens for the games make for a good time for the kids. While they enjoyed themselves the wife and I talked. We tried to talk anyway. Near us was a ball pen for toddlers. The toddlers being entertained were as vocal as they were happy.

By the time the kids had worked up a sweat the pizza was ready. Just pepperoni for the kids. Anything besides pepperoni is picked off and discarded, so pepperoni is all we ever order for them.

It doesn’t work the Superwife or myself though. For ours I told the fellow at the counter to put on everything but bacon. No bacon for us, we eat healthy.

After we ate the kids split up the tokens and headed for the game room. By the time they’d used all their tokens they’d won many tickets. The tickets were then redeemed for prizes, in this case it was almost all candy. And why not, Halloween was almost nine months ago. A kid can only hold out for so long.

We left with the sweet booty and headed for Best Buy. The new Piglet movie is out. We now have a copy; perhaps tomorrow I can do a review. The world is waiting.

Then it was on to home, and time to Blog. The Superwife has informed me that Trainboy lost a tooth last night. He wants another gold dollar. The last time I got stamps at the Post Office I got five of them. They are nowhere to be found. It would be no good to have a disillusioned Trainboy, so it’s off to the Post Office I go.

It’s a waste that I’m not in a sleep deprivation study.

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We went to Wal-Mart to pick up a few things. As we entered the shrine to the twin gods Capitalism and Conspicuous Consumption we could not help but notice the latest writing on the wall- the school supply lists were in. It was decided that as long as we were there we might as well get it over with. My hopes for a surgical shopping strike evaporated like the proverbial snowball. Didn’t even melt, just gone.

Trainboy’s list for kindergarten was fairly short. I had it all within five minutes. The older the kids are the longer their lists. Ms. Pikachu must be closer to adulthood than I realize, either that or her list was put together by a teacher still young enough to have grand dreams. It was a grand list- a list suitable for an all-night scavenger hunt. A list of Homeric proportions, a list worthy of a Greek chorus supplying commentary on the search.

Some years we wander from store to store like the Lost Tribe looking for the Holy Grail. That wasn’t the problem though. We were beating the rush. It was one-stop shopping; there was no need to go anywhere else. The problem was the choices. Need a ruler? Will that be plain plastic, or should it have templates, or should it roll up, or should it fold up, should it light up? And after deciding on the model, which color? Hmmmm, light or dark?

Folders, colors, markers, pencils, pens, organizers, on and on it went. It was a creative retentive’s dream come true. The kids could almost be guaranteed to be happy. The parents could almost be guaranteed to finish so tired a good nights sleep would be their reward, unless they dreamed of overwhelming school supplies that were suffocating in number.

She needed a basic calculator, nothing fancy schmancy. That was a problem, because all the calculators in school supplies were much more sophisticated. It was amazing- for $10 you can get a calculator better than one that cost over $150 just… 25 years ago. Time flies and so does technology.

I wandered off to Electronics to find a cruder calculator, and found a mind-blowing solution. They have a basic, palm-size calculator in a variety of designer colors. I guessed purple. It cost 99 cents. How do they do that? Make parts, assemble parts, ship from China, sell it for under a buck and everybody still makes a profit. It seems beyond belief.

When I returned to the hunting party with the purple wonder Ms. Pikachu declared it just what she wanted. Even Frugalwife was impressed. Points for me. As Ms. Pikachu continued her deliberations the Frugalwife and I indulged in a little supply-side envy.

Rulers that fold up with a hinge every inch, protractors that light up when pressed- there was a lot of cool stuff. When we were in high school you had to buy a book of tables to be able to do trig problems. For $10 you can have a calculator that displays the solution as fast as you can key in the problem.

Superwife noticed they did not have the erasers that are half pink and half white. Ms. Pikachu will have to rough it with an all-pink one. Someday she’ll tell her kids about it.

While Ms. Pikachu and Supermom agonized over another choice, Trainboy asked me if he could get a toy. Why not? As we headed back to the toys he took my hand. I love that; every clasp is a golden moment. He asked, “Dad, do you love me?” How many times have I told him? How many more have I shown it? But at that moment he just needed to hear it again.

So I told him, “Yes, I love you.” Quoting from ‘Lovable Lyle’ I said, “Sometimes I love you so much I can hardly stand it.” He smiled and replied, “I love you too. It makes me happy.” I was pretty happy myself. It was a golden moment gilded.

It’s hard to say “no” after a moment like that. He didn’t try to capitalize on it though. He picked out a small set of transforming toys- it cost all of about $6.00. Trainboy asked if it was okay. I granted his boon and we headed back to find Ms. Pikachu and Supermom. After we picked up a few more things it was time to go home, happy, but tired.

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We went back to visit cousins. Trainboy was so excited about his Super Chief he brought it along. Are you sure? Things break. He’s sure, he puts it in a soft case to bring it.

After our visit he tells me the coupler was broken. Along with his heart. He was kind of fearful when he told me. I don’t understand that. I can’t remember ever yelling or being mean to him. But maybe I have, I don't know. His fear hurts me more than his broken train could. I have to watch myself, coming to me for help should be easy.

It’s a plastic coupler. I have model glue. A little glue, a little time, and I can still fix anything. One of these days he’ll come up with something I can’t fix, but until then I’m doing pretty good.

-SantaFe Warbonnet

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Trainboy’s Hogwart’s Express electric train didn’t last long. A rod that connected some wheels broke. It was probably a mistake getting him a steam train, they’re too delicate for a six year-old. So there he sat with track and no train. What to do, what to do?

I bought him another train. He likes the Santa Fe Super Chief, so that’s what he got. The headlight/cab light works too. Kids always like getting something in the mail, it’s like Christmas for them. I ordered it over the web, figuring he’d get a surprise in the mail. We can get additional cars, like a caboose, at the local hobby shop. He’s a happy Trainboy.

He asked me to guess what his favorite Monkee song was. Think, think, think. He bounces up and down to ‘I’m a Believer.’ ‘I’m a Believer?’ “No, ‘Last Train to Clarksville.’” Slap my head, well duh, ‘Trainboy’ and ‘Last TRAIN to Clarksville.’

Parents do not have all the answers. But it can be very helpful it the kids think we do.



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We ate, then went to the library. The wife had a load of books and videos to return. While she did her returns and got her reserves I was checking out the new non-fiction and saw a book that looked possible. Flip, check it out, flip, maybe not- couldn’t make up my mind.

Eventually Ms. Pikachu came over and said, “Dad, Mom’s ready.” Uh huh, I’ll believe it when I see it. “Dad, poke, Mom’s ready. Poke. Poke.” She poked me as she said “poke.” It was funny. She knows how to get laughs.
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We watched ‘Roman Holiday,’ with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn. It’s wholesome, it’s fun. One of the girls who live next door came over and watched it. Everybody loves it. It’s a movie that can be watched more than once.

We’ve also recently watched “Harvey” with Jimmy Stewart. The wife has been checking out a lot of Gregory Peck and Jimmy Stewart films lately. They’re all terrific.

It’s always a temptation to say they don’t make ‘em like they used to. Technically that’s certainly correct because they’ve all been black and white. But they’ve all been so good they’re timeless- 50 year-old films and they still entertain adults and kids.

I’d always liked Jimmy Stewart. He was wonderful in ‘Harvey’ and ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.’ He flew B-17’s in Europe during WW2. He walked the walk, you couldn’t help but enjoy him for his films and admire him for his service.

I’d always liked Gregory Peck for ‘12 O’clock High.’ Seeing him in ‘Roman Holiday’ and ‘The Yearling’ I like him even more. Better late than never, I guess.

It would be tempting to say they were irreplaceable, but no one ever is. For example, Tom Hanks has done some amazing stuff. Just for fun there was ‘Big’ and ‘That Thing You Do.’ Nope, nobody is irreplaceable, but the loss is still a loss. The more of their movies I see the greater the loss becomes though. And when I snuggle with the wife and watch a movie a kiss is still a kiss. When I laugh with the kids a smile is still a smile.

Harvey
Big
ThatThingYouDo

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Well this isn't fun.
Saddam’s two kids are reported to have been killed in a gunfight. The 101st, cornered them in a house with two accomplices after being led there by a soon to be rich informant. The shootout lasted six hours, and apparently ended with a missile through the roof. Sorry, but I don’t get this. The butt-kicking 101st held off for six hours by four guys in a house? In Vegas the oddsmakers would probably have given them five to ten minutes tops.

I hope this isn’t a sign of a kinder, gentler army but it may be. Considering the Army is on a feel-good campaign we may not be getting warriors in olive drab. For example- the black beret had always been the headgear of the Rangers, an elite outfit. The black beret was made General Issue for morale purposes. What once symbolized excellence is now nothing more than a tool to make the troops feel cool, and maybe get a few recruits who want to impress the chicks.

It doesn’t take a genius to know that unit élan doesn’t come from handing out berets, it comes from training them to the point they know they’re special. It comes from shared adversity. Current training is a joke.

Instead of hardcore troops we’re getting soldiers who have undergone self-esteem classes but can’t shoot straight (you may not have heard of it, but it’s an Army scandal). If they trained them to a razor’s edge the self-esteem would take care of itself. In a firefight self-esteem classes don’t keep you alive, good training does, and that starts with being able to shoot straight.

The Army’s current promotion doesn’t make sense either- An Army of One. What kind of crap is that? An Army of One is fine if you’re Stallone playing Rambo, but in reality what keeps you alive is your buddies. The Army plays with real bullets; they should not be playing Hollywood.

I can almost here the war movie- the grizzled old sergeant yells, “Reynolds, take your Army of One and go check the left flank.” Reynolds is shaking in his boots because even though he aced self-esteem class and made corporal he knows he was pencil-whipped on the shooting range. He says truthfully, “Sarge, this Army of One isn’t big enough to do it by itself.” The sergeant grimaces and says, “Alright, take the Kowalski Army and the Preston Army with you.”

That wasn’t worth the effort to write or read, but I didn’t delete it anyway.

Part of the problem is that the military is seen as a refuge for hawks and terminal losers. That shouldn’t be the case, especially after 9/11. Remember 9/11? For months afterwards there was a groundswell of patriotic fervor. Everybody had a flag, or two, on their car. Those A-rabs weren’t going to beat us, uh uh, we were flying flags. Ever day the streets looked like another parade. Did anybody actually do anything? Besides kicking the crap out of Iraq and offending the Germans and French? Did military enlistments go up? No. The military is still struggling to get people and keep them.

Having an all-volunteer Army is a nice idea. But just to get some of the best and brightest in to play, and let everybody have some sense of civic duty and awareness of what is at stake, maybe everybody should serve two years. The military would have the luxury of discharging the unfit. It would be good for the health of the country, and just think of the money to be saved on the ad campaigns.
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I wrote this in reply to someone who thinks the war in Iraq is so wrong. I need a post so here it is.

I think butterflies are free, and if they come back then they're really yours, if they don't they never were.

And I think you should make love, not war, but that's hard when you're being run through a shredder machine.

And I think war is harmful for children and other living things, but if the kids are left in prison, they'll just have to roll with the punches.

I think this is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, but it's hard to tell that when you're strapped down and attached to electrodes.

I think it takes a village to raise a child (to quote Hillary Marx), but that's hard when they're dropping chemicals on your village.

I think you should question all authority especially when it tortures and fills mass graves.

I think you should expand your mind, but that's hard when it's in a vise.

I think you should think outside the box, especially when you're chained to the inside.

I think you should free your mind when you're in shackles.

I think the Iraqi people are happy to be free just so they can sell their oil.

I think "power to the people" but Iraqi democracy may not survive hanging chads.

I think the Iraqi police needed a better PR firm. Because if it feels good, do it, and they did it. Maybe they were just trying to go with the (blood) flow. When it is all said and done, it was just about sex and violence, and those always sell.

I think when in Rome, do as the Romans do. But when in Iraq don't get on the raq.

I think de' nial is not a river in Egypt, but Iraqi war protesters float their boats there.

I think you can't trust anyone over thirty, except me.


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The other day I was driving along when up ahead was a squirrel in the middle of the road. “Run little squirrel, run” I thought. Almost by ESP, or some other cosmic link, it ran for the side of the road. Safe. But only for a moment, for it suddenly executed one of those mid-air turns with change of direction only the desperate dwellers at the bottom of the food chain can do, and it ran back out into the street.

Squirrels apparently have a memory limited by the size of their skull. Or maybe their twitchy tails are a sign of ADHD and they don’t care where they’re going, they just want to go. The only other explanation is rather dark and would seem to violate the natural order of things.

Squirrels have suicidal tendencies. They're natural recruits for Hezbollah. I've hit a few myself, squirrels I mean, and never like it. You always flinch when you feel the thud of something under your tires, as long as it's not wearing a robe and explosives. At least they rarely cause damage, and they do feed the bottom of the food chain. Being at the top of the chain it will go through a few filterings before we get to it.

The worst thing I've ever hit was a deer; everyone in my family has hit one. The deer took out the hood and some headlights. It ran away- should have hit it harder and at least gotten some meat out of it. (Testosterone rush.) Why yes, I am feeling manly at the moment.

Squirrels are a reminder that Darwin isn't always right. Massive breeding can outdo Darwin's laws. Come on guys give it a try, do it for posterity, you have to believe your uber-DNA is worth it. The hard part will be convincing the wimmin.

Maybe all those senseless rodent deaths just mean we need a new social/entitlement program to move them to the country. Give them a job and housing. The mascot could be a little squirrel with a tear running down its cheek, a PETA badge on his shoulder, a bleeding heart on his chest, and a DNC patch on his hat.

I'm crying already, where can I send my contribution, or does that come out of my paycheck?

Oddly enough, on my way home tonight I ran over a skunk. Actually, the car ran over it, but you knew that, a smart one you are.

I ran over the skunk and it stunk so badly, all the way home. Forty-five minutes to home. The kids were already sleeping so they didn't notice. But sleep isn't a good option when you're driving, so I drove, and smelled. My nose I mean, but you knew that, like a whip you are.

Eventually I thought wow, that stink doesn't go away, its strong and relentless, that’s kind of manly actually. And as I thought of it that way it became less and less offensive, it became skunk musk. Women may be strong enough for Irish Spring, but even a woman on steroids can't handle Skunk Musk.

Knowing the wife would never share my enthusiasm for my new air freshener I stopped at a car wash and tried to wand it out. That's right, tried to; it still stinks, just not as badly.

It also occurred to me that my attitude change might give a little understanding as to why people have trouble training their dogs. The dog craps, the owner rubs its face in it. The dog sniffs, his eyes go wide, his ears perk up and he thinks, "Hey, that's good! Since you like it I can make some more. Bring on the Kibble and I'll doo-doo this place right."
Female dogs are easier to train.

It's a theory anyway.


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Time to hit Wally World again. They must get such a huge chunk of sales I’d rather shop elsewhere just to keep the competition alive. Target is the only chain in the area that really competes with them, but you only have to drive by their lots to see Wal-Mart is clearly ahead around here.

In contrast K-Mart always looks like dead retailer walking. So I go there when I can, anything to keep another competitor open. For a while they had some self-check-out terminals. Then those were closed with a sign that said, “Closed so we can add more checkouts to serve you better.” That made no sense, of course. There were still a dozen checkouts and no more than three are ever open at a time. Spin is everywhere.

To be realistic, what else are they going to say? “We aren’t making enough money to maintain the new terminals, so we’re just shutting them down?” They haven’t pulled them out, they’re just blocked off and they’re used as a storage area. That chain has problems. I wonder if they’re in a death pool, and what the odds are.

One thing the kids and I like about K-Mart is that they have an Icee machine after the registers. Pay for the cup with your other stuff and fill it up on the way out. Trainboy and Ms. Pikachu each get one. They have to alternate filling it up between the red and blue. While they have official flavors of raspberry and cherry that’s just a comfort mechanism. Truth in advertising would be to just call them Red and Blue.

Back to layers of Red and Blue. Sometimes when you suck it up through the straw you get lines of both colors and the same time. That’s kind of cool. When you get near the end the colors start to mix, and that’s when anyone can see that Red and Blue make Purple. So there’s an art lesson to be had too.

But we went to Wally World anyway. Because if you’re going shopping with kids and need food, pet bedding, auto supplies and anything else needed for daily living you only want to get out of the car once and just get it over with. Wally World is good for that.

-icee

We went to see the latest Rugrats movie. It’s playing at a small theatre in a nearby town. Two adults, two kids for $11.00. We loaded up on pop, Milk-Duds, and Dots for a couple more bucks. Small-town living may seem boring, but it’s cheap. The Cheapwife likes that.

After about a half-hour I blinked and failed to un-blink. The next thing I was aware of was being nudged with a “Dad, wake up.” It’s not my fault, once you learn how to sleep sitting up it’s like riding a bicycle. So’s snoring, hopefully it wasn’t so loud it bothered anyone. I didn’t ask, they didn’t tell.

I also didn’t ask how the movie ended. In a few months we’ll probably have it on DVD and I don’t want it spoiled. So I’ll be in suspense for a few months, if it seems I’m a little tense you’ll know why.


RugratsGoWild

I finished ‘The Hunt for Bin Laden,’ an excellent book. It’s a chronicle of the Green Berets that were dropped into Afghanistan after 9/11. Conventional forces take months to mobilize, Special Forces take days. For a fast response they were it.

They would link up with the local rebels, plan attacks and call in air support. The Taliban had had it all their way since the rebels of the Northern Alliance didn’t have the hardware to mount an offensive and take ground. Once our guys were in the bombs started to fall and they kicked butt from one gutter to the other and back again.


It’s a thrilling read, page after page you want to cheer and say, “You guys kick ass.” The Berets actually rode to battle on horseback singing ‘The Ballad of the Green Beret.’ That’s the kind of stuff that if it were fiction critics would say it was just too far. Forget Hollywood, these guys were bigger, and real too.

There are odd things, like when you find out the Alliance and the Taliban know what radio frequencies the other uses. Security anyone, anyone? Perhaps they figured people switched sides all the time, or there were plenty of spies, but it would still make sense to try to keep the other side from overhearing you.

There are funny moments, like when a Beret is talking to a weapons officer in the Spectre flying overhead. An Alliance commander hears the voice of the female officer and seizes the opportunity. He tells the Taliban the US has so little respect for them they send their women to fight them. Then he patches her through and she talks to them. She says she’s there because of the terrible way they treat their women- quite an extreme insult in itself. She becomes known as the Angel of Death.

They brought 5,000 patches from the NYPD and FDNY with them, many of them embroidered with a name from the slain. When they conducted a raid, or just pounded them into the dust, they’d leave patches- to let them know it was payback for 9/11. One time they had a sizable number of Taliban cornered and the Alliance commander tried to negotiate their surrender. A Beret said, forget that, we want to kill them all; it was payback with a vengeance.

I don’t recall any Beret being killed by Taliban, but there were some who were killed in friendly fire accidents- such terrible wastes of our nation’s finest. But accidents happen, especially in a war zone.

They were able to kick the Taliban out of Afghanistan with about a hundred Green Beret in a couple of months. Since the Berets would take care of the population when they weren’t fighting, when the Taliban were gone, the Afghans weren’t just glad the Taliban were gone, they often became pro-American.

It’s a book that makes you proud of the men who fight for this country, and grateful that they do. There are so many terrific stories it just screams for a ‘Band of Brothers’ treatment.

Is it a detached, objective book? No. Around 1964 the author trained with the Green Berets and then wrote ‘The Green Beret.’ He’s their friend and squarely in their corner. He’s an enthusiast, and that’s the perspective it’s written from.


TheHuntForBinLaden

We watched ‘Mr. Smith Goes To Washington,’ another wonderful Jimmy Stewart movie. It’s a sweet movie with some rough edges suitable for family. There are several opportunities to have discussions with the kids- ethics, government and civic responsibility can be started with the pause button.

The dramatic culmination is his filibuster of the Senate in the face of overwhelming odds. Trivia question- Who holds the record for longest filibuster? Answer- Strom Thurmond.
Apparently he had a lot of stamina. Question- Is it time for a nasty comment about his reputation as a ladies man? Answer- No, that would be rude, we speak only kindly of the stiff.

It was a lot of fun to watch a good movie with the family, the bonding thing is a good thing, good.



-MrSmith